Need Not to Know
by shallowdweller
Summary: Set during Brown Eyed Girls, some backstory scenes and cannon subtext to explore denial and how it affects relationships in the Mentalist. Even the smartest man in the room can't solve a problem if he refuses to look at it honestly.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: It really bugged me that Jane would not at least realize during Brown Eyed Girls that something very serious was up with Lisbon. She isn't good at hiding her emotional responses when something bothers her, and Jane is intensely concerned with her well-being. But on reflection, it occurred to me that there were some very good reasons why he would actively avoid reading her at this point. So I started this story. Still working on this weekend's installment of Illusion of Control, which will be from Fischer's POV and involve the party house in Violets. But if people are interested in yet more Jisbon, I might see how far this story takes me, too.**

**Disclaimer: the Mentalist is the brainchild of some very talented minds, none of whom are me. But I'm glad none of them are stopping me from getting amusement (and no money) from exploring their world in my stories.**

Need Not to Know

He tried to repel the image from his mind. Lisbon leaning in, laughing, smiling with delight over the take-out food from her favorite Thai restaurant. Pike, confident, drinking in the vision of her pleasure, clearly expecting that it would ultimately lead to more. Just seeing the speculative look in Pike's eyes heightened Jane's feelings of urgency to go, get out of this building, find whatever was necessary to bring peace to the poor girl who had died right in front of him. He didn't want to see the silent questions flitting across the other agent's face. _How soon can I be alone with her again? What will it take to convince her to…_

Jane averted his eyes slightly, raised his mask once again, and willed his breathing and heartbeat to slow. He delivered his message quickly, trying to sound genuinely sorry that he had interrupt them, trying to sound as if it didn't matter to him that Lisbon was finally, finally coming with him in the Airstream to solve a case. Then he retreated quickly, not wanting to see just how sorry Teresa was to leave with him.

He knew that he had no business feeling irritated that Pike got credit for knowing that Lisbon appreciated some spice when he himself had known it for years. He had no right to feel uncomfortable about their subtle but very public displays of affection. At work. (Since when had Lisbon become so laid back about professional distance?) The most he could allow himself to feel was impatience that Lisbon would be here, dallying with her new beau, when there were crimes that needed solving. Would she ever have let such a thing distract her in the old days at the CBI?

But that was the old Lisbon, the one he had known intimately—not sexually, but at the very heart of her character, her hopes, dreams, passions... everything that had made her uniquely herself. This new Lisbon was a stranger to him. Partly her choice, she had avoided being alone with him for months, finding excuses every time he sought her out. Partly because Abbott and Fischer had been shy of assigning them to the same tasks since that first time that he ran away—and why had that only changed after Pike demonstrated his interest in Teresa?

But mostly, he had to admit, because it was painful for him to see how she had changed, how high her walls towards him had been built, in the two years that he was absent. Walls of suspicion, guilt, anger, grief, doubt.

Pain.

That had been the hardest to see. On that one fateful plane ride, when she had set him straight about whose life he had been manipulating and rearranging, he had been unable at first to read her, to understand why she was not as warm to him as he had hoped and expected. And then she had let loose. He had seen the full spectrum of her anger on a variety of occasions over the years, but this was something else again. The subtext of her (otherwise relatively subdued) tirade was loud and clear. He had hurt her. Badly. Not carelessly and from neglect, but deliberately and with full knowledge of the probable damage. It was only her considerable strength and courage that had pulled her back from a shattered heart and life and enabled her to rebound and rebuild.

Seeing this wasn't nearly as bad as finding her bled out on his bed, but it was painful enough. It felt far too familiar.

As he walked towards the elevator, Abbott called his name. Chafing, Jane turned to face him. "Have you spoken to Lisbon?" Abbott asked, him.

"Yes, I think she can tear herself away from Agent Pike to join us. Cho's already gone down to the Airstream."

Abbott's eyes were searching, but if he thought the hint of irritation in Jane's voice was unusual, he gave no sign. "Go easy on her, Jane. She cares about this case, too. She just has other things on her mind."

Jane bit his tongue to hold back back from several less than civil replies. The one that finally passed his internal censor was spoken with a mocking smile, mildly enough that even Lisbon might not have heard the bitterness. "Up until now she has never been this distractible. You would think that she has never had attention from a man before. Don't worry, she'll get used to it, eventually."

Jane saw Abbott's eyebrows rise, and wondered why the senior agent was so taken aback by this reply. Saying things calculated to shock and offend was Jane's stock in trade, but this comment was meant to sound offhand. Had he miscalculated his delivery?

He scanned for meaning in Abbott's nonverbal signals. The boss knew something. Something he had thought that Jane would already know. But something in Jane's words or mannerisms made him wonder… Abbott glanced towards the break room, and then back at Jane. There was the merest trace of pity in Abbott's eyes.

_I don't want to know._

Jane excused himself hastily, striding past the elevator and opening the stairwell door, knowing that he needed to get rid of some frustration if he was going to be calm and pleasant and rational on this ride. He knew that this case had gotten under his skin. The girl might have been Charlotte's age, light hair, terrified by the approach of death… and once again he had been too late.

He took the steps quickly, a patter like the rhythmic drumming of distracted fingers on a table. It wasn't Lisbon's fault that the girl had died. A few minutes earlier would still have been too late. Who else but Teresa would have come so quickly, on so little information? Who else trusted him that much? At least when it came to professional hunches. And yet… what had she been doing with Pike when he called? What would make leaving their date such a hardship for her, to the point that once again she was suspicious of his motives in calling her? Her voice had sounded breathless on the phone, but the background noises suggested somewhere out in the open. He had tried not to listen for more clues, not to read her face when she arrived. He had found, since Pike and Lisbon had been dating, that his imagination went into overdrive on a hair-trigger when it came to their personal activities. _Not my business not my business not my business _was his mantra, keeping pace with his echoing footsteps, winding back and forth, spiraling downward.

And out at the ground floor, heading for the exit just short of a run, Jane tried not to remember the times he had forgotten how much he really did not want to know the details of Teresa's new relationship. Including that first night, after the art con had successfully ended, and he had surprised them on their way out.

Where are we going?

Teresa's flushed, excited face, glowing from well-deserved admiration, falling slightly. Guilt? Disappointment? Uncertain how to answer, but Jane had read her face too well, and it almost broke him. _Not now, Jane, I've been looking forward to this…_

And Pike's awkward embarrassment. _Is she going to tell him he's not invited? Should I?_

Fortunately, Jane had regained his composure quickly. Before Pike had done what he figured Lisbon wanted him to do, inviting Jane along as a third wheel, he had sent them on their way, mask firmly in place, trying not to wonder what their plans were, or how this had developed so quickly. Was there more to this than the brief moment of flirting that he had witnessed in the art squad's private museum? How serious was Pike? How serious was Lisbon? Did she intend to make him jealous? Was he, in fact, jealous?

Deep down, he knew the answers to all those questions. But he couldn't bear to examine them.

Stopping at the door and looking back, Jane saw an elevator door opening, and paused, just in case he had the opportunity to walk Lisbon out to the Airstream. No such luck. She was making a long goodbye, no doubt. As she must have done the morning that they had investigated the explosion at the bus stop, and she had arrived late. In a cab. Lying blithely about her car not starting. Of course, he could almost always tell when she was lying. And he really hoped he was reading her cues wrong. No high voice, maybe she was really having car trouble.

He had not asked her about it later. He was afraid that she might get that confused look she sometimes got. If he had to remind her that she was having car trouble, it meant that the car was not the issue.

Jane strode out the front doors briskly, berating himself. It shouldn't matter what level of intimacy Lisbon and Pike had reached. But he knew full well why his chest tightened and his throat constricted when he caught glimpses of their private glances or overheard snatches of teasing conversations. He had failed to overcome his own desires and emotions with regard to Teresa. Even knowing how he had hurt her, even with every renewed evidence of his inability to be the good man that she needed, even watching time and time again as her face went from happy and excited to guilty and uncomfortable when she saw him… he couldn't forget. He couldn't stop wanting what he did not deserve, and could never have.

Sometimes he would have liked to burn the whole memory palace to the ground, rather than keep seeing what he had done to her, and feeling the aching gash of his longing for her that seemed to bleed him dry.

But for now, he had a chance to be near her while they did the one thing that most satisfied her. And some part of him couldn't help but hope that sharing this piece of his past might make her see him better, even remember what she had once loved about him back in Sacramento. But that was a fool's dream. It was enough that she seemed happy with the work, and sometimes, if he didn't look too closely, or think too deeply, he could pretend that her smiles were his doing. Whatever their real source, he didn't need to know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't even own a decent word processor or a tool for connecting with the internet easily, let alone The Mentalist.**

**AN: Thank you to anyone who was waiting for this second chapter. I hope it is worth the wait. If readers have interest and patience, I have more questions to answer. Like what does Abbott need not to know? And how does Cho manage to work law enforcement for 12 years with emotional blinders on?**

**But first I really want to finish Lisbon's chapter of The Illusion of Control. The working title is "Driven", although there is a strong temptation to call it "Pot, Meet Kettle; Kettle, Pot." There will be blatant Jisbon interaction, which I find both thrilling and terrifying to write. Also, that story is now officially AU, since post Blue Bird my Cho clearly knows too much. At first I found that disappointing, but now I relish the license too take the story in a direction I find personally very exciting, someplace the show was never likely to go.**

Need Not to Know

Chapter 2

Teresa dragged her eyes back to Marcus as Jane turned and walked away from the break room, but the image of Jane's face was still in the forefront of her mind. Something in his manner troubled her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She blinked, reminding herself that it wasn't her job to work out Jane's issues. But the unease could not be easily banished.

"Hey," Marcus' voice finally brought her back to her senses. "What's up? What girl? Is this a new case?"

Teresa shook herself, trying to shut out of her mind the hollow, guarded expression on Patrick Jane's face when he found her here with Marcus. "Yes, this is the girl that Jane and I found last night…"

"The one who died." Marcus reached for her hand and squeezed, his eyes searching hers. "Well, no wonder Jane was so distracted. How's he dealing with it?"

_Distracted didn't even begin to cover it_, Teresa thought, but out loud she said, "Jane's dealt with worse in his life. He'll put all his efforts into this case."

Marcus furrowed his brows and looked down, the earlier playful mood completely gone. "No matter how much you see, the pain never really goes away, though, does it?" He shook his head sadly. "That's why I transferred to the art squad, we don't often deal with tragedies like that." He shook his head as though to clear it. "Should I pack this up for you? You can eat on the way…"

"No, no," she assured him hastily, "Just set it in the fridge for me, I'll heat it up when I get back." She saw his face fall minutely, and continued, in a lower, more intimate tone, "or you could bring it to my house and we'll have it for dinner after work…" His eyes lit up, as she knew that they would. He always seemed happy for more time with her, and the least evidences of intimacy delighted him endlessly. So she had given him a key to her home after he had asked about D.C., as a way of stalling for time.

It had shocked her from their very first date how eager he was to be with her. It had continued to amaze her how his feelings for her had deepened so quickly, and how he expressed them so easily. Utterly unused to such a demonstrative partner, she alternated between feeling deeply touched and slightly smothered. She didn't dare ask herself if she should have expected this from her relationships from the start. Had she been settling for scraps of affection when she could have had more? Or was there something in her own nature that was uncomfortable with emotional closeness? She didn't want to dig too deeply here. What if she were to find that she just wasn't the sort of person who could truly enjoy intimate relationships? What would she do then?

"It's a date. " Marcus' voice snapped her back into focus. "I'll see you at your place later." He leaned in for a kiss, and though she stiffened, knowing that colleagues could easily observe them here, she didn't pull away. She tried hard to balance her desire to reciprocate his affection with her intention to behave in a professional manner at work.

Typically, Marcus seemed oblivious to her inner conflict. She knew that Jane would have seen through her in a second.

She pulled back first, as usual, but kept her eyes on his, so full of the love and affection that she hungered for. Why was she still so unsatisfied when he was offering her his heart and his life so freely?

"Later," she agreed, letting her gaze fall to his lips. How long had she gone without this feeling? Being wanted, cherished, was a heady sensation. It made her voice husky, inviting. But she pulled back even as he leaned in for more.

With a rueful smile, Marcus took the hint. "Duty calls, right?" His eyes were full of yearning, and she felt the pleasant flutter of answering desire which usually served to cover her feelings of guilt when he looked at her that way. She wished, not for the first time, that her feelings for Marcus could be as strong as his feelings for her.

She turned away, remembering to throw a few lingering glances back as she gathered her things from her desk. It seemed ungrateful to dismiss him so easily when he had tried so hard to do something nice for her. In fact, he was always so effusive in his admiration of her, so warm and passionate in their physical relationship, and so thoughtful in his romantic gestures, that she felt she owed it to him to put more effort into responding in kind. She knew far too well what it felt like to love deeply when love was not returned. Marcus deserved better than that from her.

She was not at all used to being the one whose feelings were less intense in any given relationship. It made her feel as if she were leading him on, even though she had so far made no commitments to him. She had never said that she loved him. She had only acknowledged the potential.

The guilt was more acute since he had asked her to come with him to D.C. How could she turn him down flat when he had plainly shown his own willingness to forgo an incredible opportunity in the mere hope of maintaining their relationship? But how could she say yes when she was just beginning to feel settled here, hitting her stride in the FBI, making a real difference in her career of choice at a level she hadn't ever dreamed of before? How could she turn away from that for a relationship whose future was uncertain?

She was aware that in her CBI days, she would never have considered such a thing. But that was before she came to fully accept that Patrick Jane was not interested in her except as a colleague. During most of their decade-long partnership, she had at first ignored and then denied her feelings for him, telling herself again and again that his playful banter and his mild flirtation meant nothing. He seemed keen to cooperate with this strategy himself. As for those few times when it seemed that his feelings might be deeper than he would admit, his subsequent evasions were a source of both disappointment and relief. She could barely handle him as a consultant. How could she hope to maintain any control of her life if he became more to her than just a co-worker?

In spite of her reservations, she could not stifle the admiration and attraction that continued to grow inside her. Her feelings towards him became more intense the closer he got to his goal of vengeance. And then it was over, and he was gone, and she had pieced together her life without the relationship that she had come to value above all others. She couldn't blame him for leaving. He had suffered enough at the hands of Red John and during his long hunt. She didn't like to think about whether she had really meant anything to him other than a tool for his vengeance. She wanted to think so, but remembering the many times that he had lied to her or taken advantage of her loyalty to him could turn a restless night into an ordeal of self-doubt.

If it weren't for his letters, she might have gone insane. She might have decided that she had imagined the way he used to look at her, sometimes. She might have concluded that his touch was only ever a means to pick her pocket or misdirect her attention. She might have convinced herself that when she thought perhaps he might feel something for her as a woman, it was mostly wishful thinking and a showman's sleight-of-hand.

And perhaps she would have been right.

As it was, she had been certain that she would never see him again, and had lulled her longings to sleep in the little community where she finally found work and a sort of home.

Then Patrick Jane came back to the states, with his usual swagger and bluster and a clear intention of seeing her again. His face when they met was so full of joy, his arms around her had felt so good, it had brought her wilder fancies roaring back like a hurricane. And the aftermath of his return threw her life into chaos once again. But she would have welcomed the chaos, if only she could have sensed that his feelings for her were more than just a need for comfort and familiarity. If he had treated her as more than a convenience, a necessary commodity to make his stint at the FBI bearable.

Her hopes for something more had slowly eroded since then. First he had run away again, stirring her fear of abandonment to the point that she lashed out at him in anger. Then he had kept his distance. Perhaps he was trying to avoid manipulating her or making decisions for her, she thought. But he also began treating her like she might break or explode at any moment, almost as if he was afraid of her. His wary, wounded expression seemed to be a regular feature of every interaction. It hurt, and she herself didn't understand why it made her so angry.

But the truth slowly dawned on her as the weeks went by. She knew that he must have seen how desperately she loved him. Why else would she leave a good job to start over from scratch at the FBI? Why else would she have stuck by him for all those years, trusting him in the teeth of all evidence of his obsessive nature and supporting him even to the point of aiding his personal vengeance? Why else would she absorb the pain of having her emotions manipulated by him? Why would she put up with being played for a fool again and again?

How could brilliant Patrick Jane miss something as obvious as her feelings for him?

He could not have missed them. It must be that he couldn't return her feelings. Perhaps his loyalty to his long-dead wife shut him off from all possibility of romantic love with anyone else. She could understand that, although it was a bitter pill to swallow. Or perhaps Patrick Jane, like herself, found emotional intimacy so terrifying that it made true connection too painful. Again, a sad possibility, but she could hardly blame him after the trauma that he had suffered.

Or maybe he never had really cared for her beyond what he could get from her. She could not wholly believe this, but the possibility was so distressing to contemplate that she avoided the question entirely.

Since she first admitted to herself that Jane's feelings for her were no deeper than her admiration for Cho, or her fond camaraderie with Rigsby, or her grudging respect for Abbott, she had been trying to convince herself that her feelings for Jane had been merely infatuation. She latched onto his every lapse as further evidence that he wasn't really good relationship material, anyway. And she didn't let herself ever question why it bothered her so much that his apologies never seemed to change his behavior, or why he kept leaving her out of consideration in things like rescue attempts, or why he would dress her up sexy and pose as her boyfriend and then keep her at arms length, criticizing her best attempts to play along with his plans.

So when Marcus expressed interest, the possibility of a good, honest, simple, straightforward relationship was an opportunity not to be missed. And with all its challenges, the relationship had rebuilt her flagging self-confidence. It healed most of the sting of an unspoken rejection. It had even, she fancied, simplified and refocused her working relationship with Jane. At least, in some ways.

"Hey, Lisbon," Teresa was startled by Fischer's voice, so close the desk where she had paused to reflect.. She stood and faced the other agent, trying to look alert and ready for the next assignment. But Kim only smiled warmly. "I meant to tell you how impressed I was with how you and Jane handled the situation last night. Don't you two ever go off-duty?"

Lisbon grimaced. "Apparently Jane doesn't. He called me in the middle of a date, actually."

Kim chuckled. "He only recognizes boundaries when it suits him. At least this time it was in a good cause, right? Good thing you knew to back him up quickly."

A wave of guilt passed over Teresa like nausea. Her conscience prodded her to confess. "I almost didn't go. And when I got there I wasn't too pleasant about it. I even accused him of making it up to interfere with my date."

Kim's eyebrows shot up, but she regained composure and said with a wry smile, "Well, I wouldn't put it past him. But I think your instincts for how far Jane can be trusted are pretty reliable. I'm glad that Abbott gave the okay for you two to work more closely. You make a good team. We're so glad to have you both with us." Fischer turned towards Wiley's desk with a backward glance and a wink. "Keep up the good work!"

More guilt. Fischer clearly did not know that Lisbon was considering moving on. But then, even Lisbon herself wasn't sure how seriously she was considering it. She had told Marcus that she was still thinking about it. At what point did thinking about it require that she inform her team?

At least Jane wasn't making a big deal of it. She was sure that he must know what was on her mind, just like he always seemed to know other things that he shouldn't. He had known the first night she came to work after an over-night with Marcus. He had known that she had plans with Marcus that one time when he arranged a helicopter so that she could get back in time. She was even certain that he must know how conflicted she was in this relationship. Once, approaching a suspect's home, she had taken a call from Marcus about planning an evening together. Jane had been so strange afterward, avoiding her eyes, looking pained. Rather like that look in the break room when he found her with Pike.

She had been tormented by guilt on that occasion, too. Certain that Jane must see that she had mixed feelings about how quickly the relationship was moving. She almost expected him to call her on it, but given the opportunity to voice his thoughts, he had been reticent. What a nice change, what a relief, she told herself, that he was giving her space to work through her personal life without interference. Yet somehow there was a hint of regret in her mix of emotions, too. Maybe because she rather missed the days when he would get in her business so shamelessly, calling her out when she tried to hide, even from herself.

Obviously, it couldn't be that she was hoping he would be jealous. Teresa Lisbon never played games like that. It wasn't her style.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I have been working at this chapter for well over a month now, and have finally admitted to myself that it is not just one chapter. I was trying to get another perspective on how denial affects the overall dynamic in the FBI team where Lisbon and Jane work. But the more I worked on Abbott's perspective, the more I found. I was going to trim this part out entirely because it was getting too long, but it was the only part I felt was solidly complete, and I so loved my new character that I really did not want to do it. Then it occurred to me that I could just let Abbott and his wife set up the next scene. If it feels like filler to you, don't worry about it. I'll be back to familiar characters as soon as I can figure out all the logistics for the rest of Abbott's POV story. Meanwhile, I hope it's clear that the introductory passage is what comes after the last chapter of this story which was written from Lisbon's point of view, and that what follows is sort of a flashback that fleshes out Abbott's perspective.**

**As always, these are not my characters, except that my version of the woman in Dennis Abbott's life is based on some wonderful women that I know. So while I usually like constructive criticism, don't expect that I would gladly change my vision of who she is or how she thinks. Not for any amount of money, which of course I don't make from fan fiction, anyway.**

Chapter 3

Dennis Abbott took a deep breath as he watched Agent Lisbon directing her steps towards the elevator. He had to be sure that his information was correct, not just office scuttlebutt. And he had to remind her that her decision affected others besides herself, people he knew she cared about.

This was just about the last thing that he wanted to do, right now, but it was becoming more and more obvious that he had to do something. It was his team that was at stake. His team, which he had worked so hard to assemble. His team, which was finally really clicking, showing results he could never have imagined. His team, which was working so effectively, solving every case that came at them. He had always, for as long has he could remember, yearned to be part of something like this..

He couldn't stand by and watch it all fall apart.

Abbott knew that he had above average observational skill and interpersonal finesse, but nothing to compare with his consultant's brilliance. How Jane could have let things deteriorate so far was beyond Abbott's comprehension. Something had to be done, and who else but Abbott would do it? Clearly Jane was in denial, refusing to see what was happening here. As for Lisbon, Abbott still was not certain if she was deceiving Jane, or herself, or both. Somebody had to deliver a wake-up call.

So he assumed his best man-in-charge demeanor and calmly moved to intercept Lisbon before she reached the elevator.

*************************early that morning...**************************************

A chirp from his cell phone had wakened him. He was immediately alert. As a rule, the Abbotts almost never slept with cell phones in their room. He grabbed for his glasses and felt his fingers graze the cell just beyond it.

Ah. That explained it. Must be Shu had set it there when she got up for her morning devotions. He smiled at her thoughtfulness as he glanced at the screen. There was a new text. From Jane. Received at 2:12 am.

This was utterly unprecedented. There were no pressing cases open that would require anyone on his team to contact him in the wee hours of the morning. On a Saturday, even. And even if something really crucial had arisen unexpectedly, it would typically be Fischer who would relay the news to him. Or else Schultz. He didn't even know how Jane had gotten access to his personal phone number.

But now he knew why Shu hadn't wakened him directly, but had left the cell where he would find it immediately on waking. She knew that he would sleep through the occasional chirp until he was rested enough to notice it.

And no doubt, she would be very curious as to the contents of a message from Jane.

The clock on his bedside table read 4:08. He sat up slowly, pleasantly sore from last night's exertions, wondering when Shu had brought the phone in. He wasn't sure what time she usually got up, except that she always seemed to beat him to the kitchen. Sure enough, as he rose and walked towards the stairs, phone in hand, he could smell the coffee brewing and hear the sounds of bustling at the stove.

He punched in his security code and perused the text as he slowly descended the steps.

**_Lisbon and I caught a new lead on a case of interest to me. Need your approval to open. Would appreciate your opinion of the suspect. Please respond at earliest convenience._**

His brain was slowly puzzling out the strange inconsistencies of this message as he stepped into the bathroom for his morning routine. A new lead. A case of interest to Jane. But the case wasn't open yet? Since when did Jane decide what cases their unit pursued?

Since he offered their help to the art squad some time ago, perhaps. But that was an FBI case that was already open. What made Jane think he could dictate to the FBI what cases they should take?

Probably the fact that he had dictated to the FBI the terms of his employment. If Jane could just decide that his vengeance on Red John did not count as murder, Dennis mused, then was deciding what did count as a case worth pursuing such a huge leap?

So who was this suspect, and what was he suspected of doing, exactly? Jane hadn't said. Did Jane think it would be convenient for him to reply at 2 in the morning to get that basic information? Or just as soon as he woke up and looked at his phone Saturday morning?

Even after his morning routine, Dennis found it hard not to feel put upon. He exerted great effort to squelch his irritation and remind himself that there was a reason he been so persistent in enlisting Jane's services. In spite of his impulse to ignore the cryptic message on a day that he had expected to have off, he decided that he would consult his wife. As if Shu could keep from having and voicing an opinion, whatever he decided.

All his sluggish ponderings were set aside as he approached the kitchen. Even before he reached it, the delights of his home and hearth invaded his senses, engulfing him with all that was right in his world. The smell of eggs and ham cooking. Shu's low, musical voice, improvising her own lyrical gratitude to the tune of "Ode to Joy", punctuated by the occasional pop of grease on the skillet. The warm candlelight, casting wavery shadows on the walls as he entered the kitchen.

His wife turned to the sound of his step, and he barely had time to register the soft padding of her bare feet across the tile floor before her arms wrapped around him. Her upturned face was as dark and sweet as hot chocolate, and her eyes warmed him from the inside. Her lips tasted of mint. The scent of her soap and shampoo worked on him like a gentle aphrodisiac. And before he could process the sensations and memories that her presence always woke in him, she was saying the familiar words that he never was quick enough to say first.

"Good morning, beloved. Thank you for last night."

He lingered over the second kiss, holding her closer. Just the memories of the previous evening were enough to quicken his blood. "As always, I should be thanking you."

The flash of her teeth from behind her upturned lips brightened the whole room. "And as always, you're welcome."

She returned to the stove with a smooth economy of movement that reminded him of dancing. He so loved dancing with her. He wished for a moment that he could take her into his arms again. But Shu was much more alert at this time of day than he was, and evidently she was a woman on a mission this morning.

"Your coffee is on the table. Could you please set out the plates and silverware while I finish the food?" The lilt of her voice spurred him to movement. She rarely needed to ask him for anything twice.

He flicked on the overhead light. Shu's practiced ease in the kitchen was such that she could probably do her accustomed tasks in complete darkness, if need be. But Dennis was not as confident, especially at this hour. Still, they moved in complimentary patterns, completing the morning routines swiftly and gracefully. Their service to one another was like a dance of its own. They had 22 years of practice.

They were seated. Shu bowed her head, and Dennis dutifully followed suit while she offered a brief but heartfelt thanks for the food. And between their joint amen and his first bite, she had already asked him, "So what did Patrick Jane have to say before the cows were even up?"

Dennis chewed slowly, grateful for an excuse to think carefully before he answered. "He said that they have a lead in a case that interests him. And he needs my permission to open it."

"Open a new case?" She cocked her head, puzzled.

Dennis nodded. "If I understand him correctly."

She pondered this as she took her next bite. Then she said, "That man has initiative, I must say. It was a good move on your part, bringing him on board." Dennis took a large mouthful to hide his smile. She had expressed her appreciation of that choice on many occasions. "But aren't you a little concerned about how little sleep he gets? If he sent the text at 2, when did he get this lead? And what was he trying to do that would require your attention at that hour to get the ball rolling?"

Dennis shrugged a shoulder. "He said something about wanting my opinion of a suspect. He didn't say what he suspected him of doing."

Shu knit her brows as she worked through her thoughts out loud. "There's a suspect in custody. How did he bring in a suspect? A consultant doesn't carry… wait, you said 'they' have a lead. Did he say who was with him?"

"Lisbon."

At that, Shu's eyebrows rose high and she sat back from the table, bemused. "…well, now. That might explain why he was up so very late…"

Dennis shook his head, "I know what you're thinking, but Teresa Lisbon has been dating Marcus Pike for a couple weeks, now. From the art squad. Hadn't I already told you that? Office gossips are having a jubilee over it…"

"Yes, yes, you did tell me. But it would be one more reason that Jane would be out and about rather than sleeping…"

"And what makes you think Jane was 'out and about?'" Dennis feigned skepticism. He loved to watch Shu's mind at work, and the most efficient way to draw out her thought processes was to challenge her assertions.

"Well, you don't usually find leads or suspects in your bedroom. Or even in the FBI offices. Not after hours, anyway."

"There's always trouble on the internet…"

"That isn't where Jane would go to soothe himself on a sleepless night. My guess is he sought out a public place, with people milling about, to distract him from unpleasant thoughts. While he was out, he saw something that set off red flags. Most likely he suspected that an innocent was in danger, so he called Lisbon for back-up. Maybe he suspected that there were weapons involved."

"And why wouldn't he have called 911, or the local police?"

"He was worried about time. Jane's hunches don't often come with a lot of clear–cut evidence. It would be hard to explain to anyone who didn't know him well. The time it took to convince an outsider that the matter was a real emergency might have meant the difference between life and death." Shu leaned forward again, and looked at Dennis intently. "I'm guessing it didn't go well. They were too late. The suspect he mentioned may or may not be directly responsible for a death, and if Jane knew for sure, if Lisbon had evidence that locked the issue down, they would have handed it over to the locals. If they took the man back to FBI headquarters, Jane has reason to think that your team is the only chance to get to the bottom of something ugly." Shu took a deep breath and grabbed Dennis' hands, squeezing tightly. "He trusts you to take him seriously, like he trusts Lisbon. That's not an easy thing for him. I think you should go in today and open the case. Early. Put the whole team behind him, whatever it is."

Dennis regarded her steadily. He was certain that her guesses were correct. They usually were. That she had reached her conclusions more quickly than he would have, and without the benefit of years working at the FBI, rarely surprised him anymore. In spite of the fact that all she had to go on were her instincts and such information as she could pick up through his descriptions of his daily activities. Which were always sketchy, as befitted his professional discretion. But he could rarely get anything past Shu. She gave him valuable perspective without him having to compromise ethical boundaries. His respect and admiration for Shu were often overwhelming to her, as she wasn't one to seek a spotlight. So he tried to temper his awe with humor. "Leah Shulamith Abbott, if I could ever convince you to join my team, I wouldn't need Patrick Jane."

"Pshhh," she scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. "I don't have the killer instinct a person needs to survive in law enforcement. And I'm far too candid to deal in secrets or manipulation. Besides that, I lack Jane's penchant for taking risks. And you have to admit, that's what solves these cases, most of the time. Even if it makes you crazy and scares you to death."

"This is what I mean, Shu," he persisted, as she picked up her fork again. "Your instincts are always dead on. You've pretty much summed up what makes Jane so effective. And you've never even met the man. You only know about him through the stories I've told you…"

"Oh, I've perused some news reports, too. I Googled him, back when the Sacramento thing kept you away for so long," she put in between bites.

"Of course you did, Shu. But anybody could do that. And they'd have a fair grasp of the facts, if they were paying attention. But you talk as if you know him personally. And you nail it every time. You know the man better than I do. If I didn't know you so well, I'd be jealous."

"Now that would be silly. Patrick Jane is in love with Teresa Lisbon. Wasn't that your theory from the beginning?" Shu winked at him slyly.

Dennis frowned. "I thought they were involved, yes. It seemed to explain a great many things. But now I'm not so sure. She seems to be pretty serious with Pike. And Jane acts as if he hasn't even noticed it."

Shu hummed thoughtfully into her mug. "Involved. The word is so… hollow. After you first met them in Sacramento, you called me and said that you were sure they were intimate. I like that word better. And I still think you were right."

"Well, you've missed the mark there, I'm afraid." Dennis sipped his coffee. "I've watched them pretty closely since they joined up. Jane lives like a monk. He still wears his wedding ring. He keeps to himself after hours. Lisbon is practically Robocop. Or was, until Pike started showing interest. In all these months, there has been scarcely a glance, a touch, to indicate any sexual history, or even interest between Lisbon and Jane. Cho always said the whole idea was nonsense. Even the office gossips have stopped talking about it." He set down his coffee cup with a rueful smile. "I don't mind admitting that I was wrong. It saves stress over personal issues that could interfere with the work." Pretending not to watch for her reaction, he then continued "I am a bit surprised that you are still stuck on that theory, though. You're usually more perceptive than that."

If he thought his teasing would rile her, he should have known better. Shu chuckled. "Oh, Dennis. Don't be so quick to dismiss your own first instincts. I know you prefer a professional distance with your colleagues. If Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane are intimate, whether or not they are sexually involved, that makes the workings of your team more complex. So if on the surface it looks like nothing's happening, the temptation would be to let sleeping dogs lie and assume that nothing is happening. But don't let wishful thinking cloud your perception." She pushed back from the table and kissed him on the top of the head. "Try watching them without expectations today, Beloved. Don't look for what you expect to see. Don't look for what you hope to see. And don't look for what you're afraid you'll see. Just be open to seeing them as people."

Shu started dishwater going for the breakfast dishes. Dennis was beginning to feel rankled. Sometimes Shu's intuitive streak made her sound smug. Did she think he wasn't paying attention? That he didn't see his colleagues as people? Shu was an excellent observer, but she knew he was no slouch, either. "So why are you so interested in Jane and Lisbon? It isn't like you to go fishing for gossip. You realize that my colleagues' love lives are 'need to know' information, don't you?"

Shu flicked a handful of suds in his direction and stuck her tongue out at him playfully. "What do I always say when you throw those words at me? I 'need to know' what is important in your life. You know I never ask you to give me sensitive details. I can figure out for myself what I need to know, and what I need not to know. Although I'd love to get to know your colleagues more personally. When are you going to invite them over, Dennis?"

Dennis picked up the plates and silverware and carried them to the sink. He wasn't sure that he could be comfortable letting his team get too close to his personal life. So he tried to distract Shu's attention. "Are you sure you aren't bucking for Jane's job?" he murmured in her ear before pressing a kiss to her cheek

She took the plates with a wry smile and placed them in the dishwater. "This is the best arrangement for everyone, beloved. Your team gets the benefit of my insight, without the FBI having to put me on the payroll. I get the pleasures of living vicariously in your exciting world without giving up the simple pleasures of my own life…" she threw him a shrewd glance over her shoulder. "And you get to enjoy me at home without worrying about my safety or being constantly irritated by my know-it-all tendencies at work." She handed him a damp washcloth. "Everybody wins."

Dennis couldn't help but chuckle as he wiped down the table. She knew him well, knew how to defuse his negativity and encourage his very best efforts. "Alright," he told her. "I'll go, under protest. I'd far rather spend the day with you, but I will give Jane my full support on this case today. And I will be watching Jane and Lisbon without an agenda. Any other assignments?"

"Oh, don't lay this at my feet, Dennis." Shu turned to him with a smirk. "I wasn't the one who came home from Sacramento in the grip of megalomania." She affected a deep voice and a passable imitation of his speech and mannerisms. "'Teresa Lisbon's Special Crimes Unit of the California Bureau of Investigation was the best law enforcement team in the country, Shu. And it will remain so until I build one just like it. Only better.'"

"Well, I did build it, didn't I?" He tossed the dripping washcloth back at her. "And it's…

"'…All that I dreamed of and more…'" She caught the cloth one-handed, as she completed his familiar boast. Then her mocking expression softened. "Just don't stop building when it's built. A working relationship is built on people. People are fragile, and they continually grow and change. You can't just sign the contracts and let it all take care of itself. You have to keep working at it." She turned back to the sink. "Just like we are always working at our marriage. Or like we have to work at building up our church. Which is what I'll be doing this morning, so don't worry that I'll be lonely without you. Just call me if you're likely to miss lunch, okay?"

Dennis groaned. While it was reassuring to know that Shu would not begrudge yet another work-related cancellation, he hated to miss the scheduled church work-day and luncheon. Some of his favorite people would be there, and as delightful as Shu was in private, she positively sparkled in a fellowship. "Tell Daniel Bells that if I miss most of the work, I'll do the lawn this week."

"I'll pass on the message, but you know Pastor Dan likes to mow himself. I'm sure they'll save you some task worthy of your talents. Anyway, I'll be doing the work of two on your behalf. Won't be hard without you there to…distract me." She cast him a flirtatious glance. "And don't worry, I'll be sure to get a bowl of the Bells' chili, and some of the barbecued chicken for you. I'll bring it home for you if you can't make it."

He couldn't resist pulling her close for another passionate kiss before going up to get ready. "Shu, you are a wonder. If I spent every waking minute trying, I still would never deserve you."

She smiled back at him, eyes aglow. "Then it's a very good thing that love isn't just about what we deserve." She tenderly cupped his cheek with a palm, and then cast down her eyes as though struck by a sudden, sobering thought. "A very good thing for all of us."

**Okay, I know that doesn't even get us back into FBI headquarters. But hopefully you get a sense for where Abbott's head is and why he chooses this particular day to face his own Rivers in Egypt and attempt a minor intervention. I think I may let the rest of Abbott's story percolate a bit while I work on Wiley's POV for The Illusion of Control. Then I'll take up the tale of what Abbott saw when he started watching Jane and Lisbon without an agenda. **


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: When I first posted this chapter, I had beginning and end notes added and a few changes made which I thought that I had saved. Then I checked back later and found that the chapter that I had posted was missing the things I thought I had added. I am very sorry. If you have read this chapter already, you should know that little of the substance has changed, except that the name of Wiley's female companion was altered from Delancey to Quinn, mostly because the name Delancey looked too close to Delahey. **

**But as I tried to say the first time, the more I dig the more treasure I find, and the longer the story gets. I'd rather break it down into shorter bits than make you all wait. So at this point Abbott's point of view may take another chapter or two, as I seem to have developed a plot, and even one or two subplots. **

Chapter 4

When Dennis Abbott arrived at FBI headquarters at 5:30 that morning, he was surprised to find Patrick Jane waiting at the front door. The consultant looked alert and focused in spite of the tired lines around his eyes. He was wearing the same rumpled suit that Abbott had seen him wearing the previous day. But his manner was more respectful than Abbott had ever known him to be. "Thank you for returning my text, and for coming so promptly on your day off." Jane's evident sincerity soothed the remainder of Abbott's irritation.

"Glad to be of help, Jane." Abbott watched him sidelong as they walked together to the elevators. Jane was holding a manila folder of the kind typically used for case files and other collections of paperwork in one hand. His step was a bit less lively than usual, and his face was almost solemn. "Your text was sent rather early. I hope that you had enough rest?"

"Oh, I'm fine, fine." Jane dismissed the expression of concern, his face lighting with a smile as if Abbott had flicked a switch. Then he hastened to add, "I truly hope that I didn't wake you too early. I expected that you wouldn't keep your cell phone in your bedroom. I didn't think I would hear from you untiI at least 6 am."

Was the man who pretended to know all admitting an error? That was unusual, but Abbott was inclined to give credit where credit was due. "You were right," Abbott acknowledged, "Usually I keep my phone on a charger downstairs. But my wife is a very early riser, and she knew that I would want to know of your call as soon as I was alert enough to hear the phone."

"Really?" Jane sounded curious, and Abbott watched his expression change as Jane filed away this interesting tidbit of personal information for future reference.

Abbott felt a moment's unease. He felt sure that it was the information about his wife that had most interested Jane. The supervising agent had always worried about how it would affect his life to have his professional and personal worlds too closely associated. Since Jane arrived, his anxiety had increased. He suspected that Shu would laugh at him for his excessive caution, but he found Jane challenging enough in the workplace. To give the master manipulator access to his private life—any more than Jane was able to intuit through his observation and guesswork, anyway—was a daunting prospect.

So he intentionally misinterpreted Jane's interest. "Of course, my work is very important to me. If a member of my team needs me I want to know right away. So have I understood correctly that you wish to open a new case?"

Jane seemed not to notice his deflection. "Yes, my captain," his lips quirked, and Abbott noticed that the gentle mockery was back in his tone, but perhaps some genuine respect lurked in the ironic honorific. "This team player stayed up to an ungodly hour to make sure that when you arrived, you would have this." He proffered the folder to Abbott with a flourish as they reached the elevators.

"What's this?" Abbott opened the folder and shuffled through the familiar forms with blank surprise.

"Incident report, report on a new suspect in custody, request to…really, don't you recognize the standard paperwork, Supervising Agent Abbott?" Jane affected mock irritation. It could have been typical Jane banter. But it was misdirection, Abbott knew. He wondered what Jane could be hiding this time.

"Signed by Special Agent Lisbon," he noted, as Jane pushed the button to the elevator. "It's nice to see that she took the time to master the computer templates. When she signed on, among the few things she insisted upon was minimal paperwork and that we waive the requirement to be trained in the computer documentation."

"She always did prefer pen and ink, even though it made the most tedious work take even longer," Jane recalled fondly. Then he abruptly switched to a more business-like tone. "I'm glad she decided to join the 21st century, though. All this could have kept us up until dawn if she did it the old fashioned way."

The elevator doors opened, and the two entered, Abbott still perusing the incident report. He couldn't help but be impressed to note how precisely his wife's speculations lined up with the events as described in the report.

Consultant encountered the suspect acting suspiciously in a public place. Check.

Consultant called Special Agent Lisbon for back-up while following the suspect on foot. Possible abduction of a young female, perhaps wounded, suspected. Check.

Upon arrival, suspect claimed that there was no female in his home, but audible evidence to the contrary necessitated entry in spite of verbal objection from the occupant. A young woman, found seriously injured in the suspect's bedroom, died before medical help could arrive. Check.

Upon arrival of local law enforcement to secure the scene, Patrick Jane asserted FBI claims of jurisdiction, with support from Special Agent Lisbon, due to possible domestic security concerns. Check.

As the elevator rose, Abbott glanced at Jane over the top of the file. Jane was looking forward with an expression of extreme weariness. Ordinarily, the consultant never showed signs of weakness in front of Abbott. The Supervising Agent wondered if Jane was coming to trust him more, or if the man was simply too exhausted to maintain his typical façade of invincibility.

"Well, the paperwork is thorough, but I'd expect nothing less of Teresa Lisbon," Abbott said, still inclining his face to the file as he flipped through the pages. He glanced up at Jane to see his response which was, oddly enough, relieved underneath his typical showman's smile. "I suppose that you spent the night here after Lisbon finished up the paperwork?"

A fractional hesitation caught Abbott's attention. "Yes. Lisbon said that she wanted to be in early to follow up, but I knew she would need some rest first. If you'll sign off on this paperwork, I could call her in, maybe in another couple hours?" There was a hopeful avidity in Jane's gaze.

Abbott cocked his head, his eyes still on Jane. "Give the poor woman a break, Jane. If she was up until two or three in the morning, she'll need until 10, at least."

"Of, course, of course," Jane swiftly retracted his suggestion, seeming a bit—could Abbott be imagining it? Was Patrick Jane flustered?

A wave of uneasiness swept over Abbott. His gut told him something was up, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Jane was no stranger to deception. The Supervising Agent knew that manipulation of authorities was old hat to the consultant, but what worried Abbott now was that the signs were so readily apparent. Jane usually excelled at concealing his reactions. Was Abbott getting better at reading Jane? Or was Jane deliberately telegraphing secrecy for some complicated reason of his own?

Or perhaps Jane's composure had slipped some due to lack of sleep. Either way, this was the ideal time to observe more closely, as Shu had recommended. Whatever the reason for Jane's strange behavior, Abbott feared it meant nothing good for his peace of mind.

The elevator door opened on their floor, and Abbott snapped the folder shut. "Alright, Jane, I will sign off on this documentation and open your case. If you and Lisbon are agreed that the FBI needs to follow up on this incident, you have my wholehearted support and approval." Abbott strode out of the elevator with the vigor of a man completely sold out to a cause. It was only when he turned and found Jane still in the elevator that he realized what a departure his actions had been, both from his thoughts and from his typical approach to his work. Jane stood staring at him, face blank, uncomprehending. As he blinked, the elevator doors began to drift closed, which brought him to his senses.

Jane abruptly charged the doors, which of course parted for him, with a broad, triumphant smile that almost hid his confusion. "Thank you, Agent Abbott, I knew that you'd see reason," he beamed.

Abbott managed not to broadcast his satisfaction. He knew from this reaction that Jane had been expecting to have to work hard to get his consent, to push and wheedle and argue and even perhaps grovel a tiny bit. Instead, Abbott had agreed at once just on the strength of reading the file, which Jane had to know was based on hunch and conjecture, fleshed out by very sketchy information. Catching Patrick Jane completely off guard was a feat he had never before accomplished, and he fully intended to thank his wife for making it possible.

"Come right to my office, Jane. I just have a few more questions so that I'll know how to proceed." He may have committed himself to supporting Jane on this investigation, but that didn't mean he had to go into it blind.

If Jane was worried that Abbott's intentions were other than sincere, he gave no sign of it. His flagging energy revived, he paused only long enough to say, "Do you mind if I get some tea, first? I'll start up the coffee-maker if you'd like…"

"You go ahead with the tea, but I'm all set for caffeine this morning,"

Jane set off to the break room, his eyes alight and his stride regaining some of its usual graceful energy. Abbott watched him for a brief moment, then turned away and headed to his office.

As he was passing the interrogation room, he was surprised to see young agent Wiley and a young female agent on HQ security detail for the overnight shift. They had arranged a couple office chairs facing each other, and were talking together in low voices, the door to the interrogation room closed behind them. The young woman saw Abbott and stood quickly, urgently nudging Wiley, who had his back turned to the office at large.

"Good morning, Agent Quinn. Agent, Wiley, you're up really early on a Saturday. Did Jane send you a text while the roosters slept, too?" Abbott silenced his inner authoritarian which was wondering what gave Jane the right to call in his colleagues for a case that had not yet been opened.

"Um, yes, sir!" Wiley definitely looked flustered, and his companion was blushing furiously.

Abbott was both pleased that he had remembered the other agent's name and uncomfortable that he had apparently interrupted an interaction that was not completely professional in nature. He wanted to walk away quickly, but it occurred to him that his wife had advised him to be more aware of his colleagues as people. Besides that, he wondered why Jane had roused Wiley from his sleep. Although evidently, the young technical wizard had no objection to being here. Again, something strange appeared to be going on, and Abbott was anxious to get to the bottom of it.

"Quinn, aren't you supposed to be on rounds through the building right now?" Dennis had seen the procedures many times when he was working cases at odd hours.

"Already done, sir. I was asked to guard the suspect while he slept, and Wiley and I have been helping each other." Her eyes met the young man's briefly, and darted downward. Abbott's gaze she avoided as much as possible.

"Jane's suspect from last night?" Abbott frowned. The two nodded vigorously, looking everywhere but directly at him or at each other. Things were definitely not adding up here. The interrogation room was hardly ever used for sleeping quarters. The only time in memory was for one of Jane's scams a short while ago. "Why wouldn't you have set him up in the detention suite upstairs?"

"That one is occupied, sir," Allie Quinn blurted, a look almost of alarm flashing across her face.

Although he kept his reaction calm and composed, Abbott's professional instincts and his personal inclinations were in violent opposition at that moment. He knew that the quarters in question had been emptied the previous morning, and to his knowledge no other cases required short term housing of suspects. He needed to know—it was his job to know—what facilities were available and for what purpose the others were being used. This was necessary in order to coordinate his team's efforts with those of the other departments and units in this building. If another supervising agent or department head had authorized use of the short-term detention suite, he would have been notified.

On the other hand, his intuition was telling him that there was something potentially messy here that might be better left alone. The fact that Jane was involved only made the feeling more credible.

But a voice in his head firmly reminded him, _don't just see what you're afraid you'll see_. He quelled his more intense reactions and resolved to investigate, calmly and quietly, after he had worked through his questions with Jane. "How is Mr. Delahey doing?"

The pair exchanged glances. "Still resting last I checked, about an hour ago. That was just before Allie…I mean, before Agent Quinn went on rounds."

"Good. Sounds like the man had a late night, and we want him bright and chipper for questioning. Let me know when he is awake, please." As he redirected his steps to his office he almost heard their joint sigh of relief.

**Thank you all for reading. Next up, a chapter of The Illusion of Control from the point of view of Aaron Pulaski, titled Marked. If I find myself delayed in completing it, I may post another drabble for my Predictable? collection. But then I'll be right back to this story, to explore what Jane is hiding from Abbott, what is really going on with Wiley and Quinn, and who is actually occupying the temporary detention suite and why.**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Apologies for being so late to post this chapter. Also, if it feels rushed or convoluted towards the end, please pardon me. Though plot is not at all my strong suit, I promise that this is all leading to something. And even if not, take courage: the real thing is coming back in less than two weeks!**

**Because, after all, The Mentalist doesn't belong to me. And while I hope this is worth more than you pay for it, that would not be saying much. All that you invest is time, and all I hope to gain is happy readers and maybe a review or two.**

Chapter 5

Wiley watched as Abbott disappeared around a corner. "You think he bought it?"

Quinn shrugged. "Either way, we should call and let her know that he's here early." Her eyes kept darting nervously at the various corridors, especially the one that led to Abbott's office.

Wiley grasped her shoulder reassuringly, and snagged her eyes. "Hey. Jane won't let us get in trouble on this, no matter what. He has our backs. And we have his, right...?"

"Of course, but he doesn' t know..."

"Shhh!" Now it was Wiley's turn to look anxious. He glanced down the hallway to the break room. "He could be along any time. The only thing that would hold him up is making tea." Wiley leaned in close, his voice quiet and urgent. "We may have managed to keep his secret from Abbott. Just. But we have no chance of keeping anything from Jane. The best we can hope for is that he'll be too distracted to notice us while he tries to finesse the boss."

Quinn blanched as she looked past Wiley's shoulder. Wiley had barely time to register her look of desperate distress before he was pulled into a dizzying kiss.

The doubts railing at the back of his head made him freeze for a moment. _This is not real. She must have seen Jane coming. She's taking a chance that he will pass us by if we're...occupied. _Wiley was impressed with her quick thinking, embarassed that his unbidden physical response was so intense and immediate, horrified that his volitional, visible response was so slow, thrilled to experience this delirious pleasure, regretful that she was kissing him as a ploy not because she wanted to... a million superfluous thoughts rushed through his head as he heard Jane's footsteps approaching behind him.

Fortunately, his instincts took over without further instruction.

He _was_ relieved to find how easy it was to just let his body do what he had been imagining for weeks. He didn' t have to think about what to do with his lips or his arms. The scent, the texture of her hair and skin, the way her lips moved against his, all taught him the required response. His brain let go. He did not register that the footsteps had passed them without pause until Quinn broke away from him, flushed and breathless.

She looked down the hall, confirming that they were alone once more. "It worked," she sighed, slumping against the wall. Her weak smile was hard for him to read, but she continued to avoid his eyes. Which meant, he guessed, with a dropping sensation in his abdomen, that she was in some way uncomfortable with what had just happened.

Well, Wiley reminded himself, he could hardly assume that the kiss had been as exciting for her as it was for him. She had begun it to avoid talking with Jane. Good thing her acting skills were convincing enough to fool the consultant.

_Good thing I didn't actually have to act, _he told himself. Even though it didn't feel like such a good thing, just then. It felt awkward and humiliating. And now, when he wanted more than anything to let her know what he was feeling...now was the time he had to put on a good show.

"That was great." She turned wide eyes on him and he hastened to amend the thought. "I mean, really good work. I never would have thought of that." _Because I'm too dense to consider a move that smooth. _"You gave us the perfect cover. Now all we have to do to distract them from the things they need not to know is to focus on our...uh...feelings for each other. And they'll assume that all we're hiding is our clandestine romance."

She blinked nervously and licked her lips. "Our feelings for each other...?"

Wiley's gut churned. _Is there any way to express this that won't weird her out? _"Yeah, the feelings we're pretending to have. So they won't know what's really going on."

She laughed breathlessly. "Oh, right, of course." She looked relieved and a bit embarrassed. "Because of course, we don't have actual romantic feelings for each other..."

"Right," he agreed, glad that he had found the right words to dispell her discomfort.

"Because that would be, uh, unprofessional," she continued.

"Exactly!"

"And totally against the rules."

"Absolutely."

"So if they think that we're breaking those rules we might get in a little trouble..."

"But they won't go digging for what else we might know."

"Which was my plan all along!" Quinn's face lit with a triumphant smile. She stood a little taller and finally met his eyes with complete assurance and satisfaction. Wiley could only beam in response. He thought, not for the first time, how beautiful and brilliant she was.

And then an idea worthy of Jane himself flashed to his mind, and he didn't dare examine it for fear he should lose his nerve. "It's a great plan," he affirmed, but with a barely feigned hesitation. "But there is one small probem." He saw her inquiring look and plowed ahead, now averting his own eyes. Not entirely for effect. "I'm not exactly up to speed on how to fake a secret love affair. You seem to have a handle on it, though." He looked up at her hopefully. "Do you think you could give me some pointers?"

For just a moment, Quinn's face went blank, dazed. Then the smile slowly returned. "My pleasure." She refocused on Wiley's face, "I mean, sure, sure," she nodded vigorously, "and we could probably both use a bit of practice..."

*****Jane*********

Handling his cup of hot tea gingerly required a sedate pace, but Patrick Jane found it hard not to walk with a brisk bounce. Even though he no longer worried that Abbott would object to opening the case. Even though the paperwork that had presented to the supervising agent had excited no suspicion. Even though it would be hours yet before he could reasonably call Lisbon to bring her up to speed.

The adrenaline burst of having Abbott return his text earlier than expected, the nervous rush of preparing to sell FBI involvement in this case, the energy boost of Abbott's sudden and unaccountable compliance... it all combined to produce an envigorating buzz.

For the moment, he was feeling optimistic about solving the case quickly. A brief chat with Abbott could make the time pass more easily. Just as in his CBI days, he found that insomnia could yield some productive time if he focused it on solving problems rather than dwelling on the past. So he was most emphatically not thinking about precious lives tragically cut short. He was not dwelling on his inability to protect innocents. And he was certainly not wondering if Lisbon had returned to her own place last night or... somewhere else.

When he had called Wiley for a ride to headquarters last night, he had noted Lisbon texting busily, her eyes intent on her phone. Would Pike have stayed up so late waiting to hear from her? Had they planned to continue their time together into the wee hours? Until morning? Lisbon's satisfied smile when she finally pocketed her phone made him distinctly uncomfortable. Even the memory made him want to grope for distractions.

The sight of Wiley and the lovely young Agent Quinn entwined in an embrace did not provide the right kind of distraction as he approached them on his way to Abbott's office. A splash of scalding tea against his fingers dissuaded him from hurrying his steps further, but he studiously avoided looking at them as he passed by. It wasn't his business. They deserved some privacy. It had nothing to do with his anxiety about how Lisbon might use the time that he had taken pains to give her.

She should have whatever she needed, whatever she wanted. Even if he couldn't give it to her directly. His heart squeezed painfully at the thought.

It seemed to take far too long to reach Abbott's door. He walked in without knocking. The other man stood facing the morning light that was glowing through his window, deep in thought. Patrick seated himself and breathed in the scent of his tea, centering himself, waiting.

Several sips later, Abbott finally let out a long sigh and turned away from the window. He squared his shoulders and took a seat across the desk from Jane. The regret in his smile was not lost on Jane. This man had somewhere else that he would far rather be. The puzzle of his enthusiastic support of this case, in light of his obviously contrary personal wishes, returned to Jane's mind in full force. But he kept his face impassive. Abbott's slip earlier about his wife gave Jane a fair guess as to his usual sunrise activities. But his patron was very guarded about Mrs. Abbott. There weren't even any pictures of her displayed in the supervising agent's office. Jane had looked before.

The cause of Abbott's reticense was no mystery. He was a very private man. Keeping his personal and professional lives separate mattered to him intensely. But something had altered his typical professional behavior. Just when Jane thought he had Abbott mostly figured out, too. The consultant could only suppose that some unknown element in his personal life was at the heart of this change. But what? Or more probably, who? Who was the woman in Dennis Abbott's life? What sort of influence did she have? Not knowing was like an itch that Jane really wanted to scratch. But he didn't want to push his luck, so he would have to be subtle.

"You have a beautiful view. This would be a great place to watch the sun rise every morning."

Abbott shook his head. "I am not usually such an early riser. But then, you know that. You are always the first one here in the morning. I sometimes wonder if you ever go home." Jane noted the hint of concern in Abbott's eyes, before he could ponder it too deeply, however, the other gave a beatific smile. "Feel free to come here to enjoy the morning view. But please keep the snooping to a minimum."

Jane read that as a declaration of boundaries. He was just about to see how close he could get his metaphorical toe without actually treading on the line that Abbott had just drawn...

"Do you ever miss being with someone to watch the sun rise?" Abbott's question was presented suddenly, but very gently. Still, to Patrick it was like a blow to the face. Like one of Lisbon's hits, in fact, well-aimed, surprisingly forceful.

It was a struggle to keep the emotional impact from showing on his face. "Don't you think I would be past that after so long?"

"I know that I wouldn't be. Not if I lived another 40 years or more alone." The compassion in Abbott's eyes was painful to look at.

Jane sat very still. It would do no good to deny it. "Yes. I miss it. But I find that it does no good to dwell on it."

Abbott regarded Jane steadily. He was weighing something behind his eyes, but Jane could not read him as he wrestled down a horde of memories. Suns rising on his Malibu home, on motel rooms, on the CBI bullpen and attic, more than six hundred lonely mornings on his island of exile.

And one sunset. Dazzling his eyes, breaking his heart as he prepared to say goodbye to the woman who had kept him almost sane through his long hunt. The memory of that one moment he had held her in his arms, trying hard to ignore his conscience as it implored him not to follow through on the betrayal that he had planned. It was for her own good, wasn't it? She was too precious to risk. Too good to dirty her hands in his vengeance, even if she was willing. Especially if she was willing.

The memory of driving away, shutting his ears to the sound of her voice calling his name.

She never mentioned it after. But that sunset was the reason that Lisbon would never trust him with her heart. With her job, she would trust him. Her professional reputation. Even after he had used her feelings for him to trick her (for her own good, he still kept telling himself) she had been willing to risk everything that she valued most for his sake, all that made her life meaningful in her own eyes. She had laid down her life as she knew it for his sake. She had lost it all for a man whose only farewell was a phone message. Whose only thanks were letters from she knew not where.

But her heart never could, never should be his. He had abused her trust.

That was the fault line that shifted, shaking her world every time he failed her again. When he bargained for her job without first consulting her. When he disappeared on their first FBI assignment. When he neglected to mention that the woman he was dating was his prime suspect in their investigation. When he and Rigsby implemented a rescue leaving her completely in the dark.

He would see that expression on her face and try not to wonder if she had looked like that the evening he had left her on the side of the road with no phone, and his affectionate thanks ringing falsely in her ears. No matter that he had meant every word. No comfort that he had omitted the burning fact of his deep, passionate love for her. Out of respect. That word he would never use as a tool of manipulation.

But even without that basest cruelty, he knew that his actions meant the end of any reasonable hope. He would never hold Teresa Lisbon as the sun came up, lending its glow to her face and gilding the lines of her body...

He blinked, trying to drag himself from the overwhelming tide of memories and emotions that threatened to pull him under. Thankfully, it appeared that Abbott had not noted his maudlin moment. He had opened up the case files again and was busily signing his name at the appropriate spots. As he flipped through pages, he hummed and huffed here and there, and peered at Jane over the top of his glasses. Then he closed the file and handed it back to Jane as he observed, "It was a good thing that Lisbon was able to get to you quickly."

"Lisbon is the best in the business. That's why I insisted on working with her as a condition of consulting for the FBI." Jane retreated to the safety of a comfortable half-truth.

"She must really trust your judgment, to give up her night off at the last minute like that."

He showed all his teeth, absorbing the force of yet another hit. Abbott could not possibly know how his words stung. No one should ever see the aching despair that kept welling up with each reminder of what he had lost by toying with her affections. He tried for light-hearted confidence. "She knows that my professional instincts are sound. That's what counts with her."

"That explains why she agreed to work with us, even though she made it plain that she didn't want to be responsible for keeping you in line."

"She...what?" Once again, the impact of Abbott's words threw him for a loop. Reeling, Jane could only just spare a moment to wonder if it was lack of sleep or the emotional roller coaster of the past several hours that was making it hard to maintain his usual equanimity.

Abbott's satisfaction at catching Jane off guard yet again was barely perceptible. "It was another of Lisbon's own non-negotiables. She was not to be considered a direct superior to you, so that she could not be blamed for what you said or did during the course of investigations." Abbott smiled as he stood up. "That's why Fischer avoids sending you out with her. Although lately Lisbon seems more willing to be flexible in that regard. I was very surprised that she would willingly take responsibilty for opening this investigation. If she was willing to sign off here, she must be completely confident that your concerns are justified."

Jane felt his stomach sinking through the floor. "Right. She trusts me. She knows I would not endanger her career."

Abbott winked. "Well, not twice." He headed towards the door, gesturing a dismissal to the consultant. "It's likely to be a long day. When I get word that Delahey is awake, I will let you know. Meanwhile, you might want to take advantage of some down time to catch up on the lost rest."

Jane stood, feeling oddly off-balance. "Didn't you say you had some questions for me about the case?"

Abbott leveled a look at Patrick Jane, a surprising mix of guilt, pity, triumph, and admiration. "I think that for the moment I know everything I need to know. If any further questions come to mind, I will find you."

As the office door closed behind him, the consultant was not wondering about why Abbott was in such a hurry to get rid of him, or what he thought he had learned from their brief discussion. He was not thinking about the mysterious Mrs. Abbott or the reasons for the supervising agent's unusual behavior. And the secrets and relationships of Quinn and Wiley were not even a whisper in the back of his mind.

He was trying to silence his fear that his most recent subterfuge might be enough to make Lisbon wash her hands of him for good. He was reassuring himself that she was unlikely to ever find out what he had done. He was deciding that, even if she did learn the truth, she would understand, this time, that all had been done for her benefit.

**AN: Thank you all for reading! I welcome any feedback, even the kind that says "I don't get it..." because parts are unclear. And it may be a good while before the next chapter comes along to clear things up, so I will try to answer any questions that may be raised. Meanwhile I am working on what is probably the penultimate chapter of The Illusion of Control, which I really hope to post before the season premiere. And I will keep posting my Truth drabbles. They actually did help with last week's productivity, even though they did not enable me to post this chapter on time.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I know that it has been a long time since my last installment of this fic. My plans for this have been percolating while I worked on other things. But it was a bit challenging to get myself back into the moment of this ****piece, now that so much has changed since the episode that it is based around. Still, I am committed to bringing it to a close eventually. And this chapter was fun to write. I worry that my logistics won't make sense, and probably any of you can come up with "why didn't she/he/they..." that would have resolved the complications better than what I have come up with. I can only say, the characters were tired, emotional, and stressed. Or maybe that was me. And of course, there is still more to be revealed with regard to the subplots that I have devised, so stay tuned.**

**My apologies to the creators, owners, and especially the writers of these characters who regularly develop plot lines that make way more sense than mine likely does. Plot has never been my strong suit. So I wouldn't dare to try to make money from fanfics like this one. The results would probably be embarrassing. Let's just say, I'd never quit my day job.**

Chapter 6

Her awakening that morning was even more muzzy and disoriented than usual. Her phone was beeping. At least, it sounded like her phone. She was in a dark and unfamiliar room. Some distant corner of her mind was firmly insisting that she get up immediately. She ignored it. Without caffeine or adrenaline, how could she be expected to drag herself out of bed at what her body clearly knew to be way too early in the morning?

The nagging noise of her phone alarm kept her from drifting back to sleep. It was the sound she chose when she had to bully herself into submission. Knew she wouldn't want to wake up. Knew she had to, anyway. It was shrill, and annoying, and persistent. So of course she started groping about in hopes of making it shut up. Her arm found the edge of the narrow cot where she had apparently been sleeping for some time. Her explorations revealed that the phone was not on the small stand next to the bed. Not on the floor beside the bed. Not within easy reach underneath the bed.

Rather than mustering the energy for a more vigorous search, Teresa fumed at her earlier, wakeful self. If it was so important to get up this early, shouldn't she be sleeping at home, with her familiar radio alarm? This was clearly not home. Her bed was bigger. It wasn't Marcus' home either. His bed was bigger yet.

From another corner of her mind, the cop instincts stirred slightly. Surely it was not a good sign that she had been asleep in a place that she did not recognize? There were no windows and it was pitch black. Which meant this was not a hotel, as if the uncomfortable mattress on the cot were not evidence enough for that. _What if I was kidnapped, drugged, locked away somewhere? _

She took a brief self-inventory. She detected no injuries, no aches and pains that could not be attributed to the bed. Even her general wooziness and lethargy felt more like her typical early a.m. grogginess than some mind-altering substance. _Don't be so paranoid_, she told herself. _There's bound to be some good reason why I'm here. Which I'll certainly figure out. After a little more rest_.

But evidently, Teresa was of two minds at this moment. In the absence of someone else to be crabby at, they aimed their irritation at each other. Herself. Whatever.

_Even if I'm not worried about myself, others might be worried. Don't I have work today_?

_No. It's Saturday, and I have the day off_.

_Am I sure of that_?

_Yes. I was out with Marcus last night. We were making a night of it. We were planning to sleep in this morning because we could_.

While the memories were hazy, on this point she was quite clear. She vaguely recalled a movie that she had barely watched, in part because it had been a long tiring week, and also because she was distracted by the dilemma of whether to take Marcus' offer to go with him to Washington DC. The images were dreamlike, disconnected. The darkened theatre, with its bright screen. Nodding off repeatedly. Talking with Marcus after the movie let out. A phone call.

_Was it about work_? She asked herself?

_No...well, not exactly..._

_It was Jane._

She groaned and cursed to herself. She refused to spend any more of her off-hours thinking about Jane. Not when she didn't have to. _I am not working. It is my day off. And Jane has no use for me other than work_. She ignored the slight bitterness in her mental tone. In her more-than-half-asleep state, it seemed perfectly reasonable to resent Jane for seeing her as a colleague, and also to be irritated at him for intruding on her personal thoughts.

But a quaver of worry in the back of her mind asserted itself. Something was very wrong. Jane was upset. And it had to do with her. No, not quite. It was more about a death. His family? No...

Between her internal dialogue, caffeine withdrawal, and the continuing alarm, her head was now splitting. She buried her head under the pillow, trying to drown out at least one of the three.

Where was Marcus? She had another memory of him tucking her in last night, kissing her passionately, asking if she'd like him to stay a bit longer for... company. But while there was a certain intrigue to the idea... it seemed slightly naughty, although looking back at it in her sleep deprived state, she couldn't quite say why... she had declined. Feeling more than a little bit guilty at his disappointment. She had asked him to meet her here, after all. He had brought her a change of clothes and some necessary toiletries. Had promised to have... someone... check in on her. The face of a mutual acquaintance, a young woman that she couldn't immediately place, looking very nervous, swam behind her eyelids. Had this been a dream, perhaps?

No. She recognized the disjointed nature of her memories as a familiar response that sometimes attended the trauma of her work. Her mind protecting her from things that were too painful to deal with right away. Usually, she would go home to work through events this stressful. But this time, someone else needed her. He would never admit it, but she wanted to be on hand at a moment's notice, just in case...

She heard a door open, and then the click of a light switch. Instinctively, she squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and cringed her body into a fetal ball. But she couldn't shut out the voice that addressed her calmly, firmly, with a hint of wry amusement. "Good morning, Lisbon. Care for some coffee?"

Dennis Abbott's voice.

She quashed the irrational urge to stay silent and hidden, hoping that he would go away. Maybe this was all a bad dream.

Peeking around the edge of the pillow, blinking blearily at the sudden brightness, she was finally able to focus on the unmistakeable form of her boss, smiling benignly behind a cup of steaming coffee. She felt at once gratified and mortified when he extended it to her. She wondered if it would be considered insubordination to take the drink and retreat under the covers without answering him. Could it be done without displaying her bed-head to her immediate supervisor?

**Later**

Abbott sat quietly nearby as she finished the coffee. It was prepared exactly to her taste. He must have been watching, as Jane once had, to discern her preferences. Though probably not for the same reasons that Jane had done it. Abbott was the boss. He didn't need to show off how observant he was. He didn't need to stay on her good side or apologize for treating her badly.

In fact, given that she had been sleeping in a temporary detention suite, with no authorization for using it in such an unorthodox fashion, she should probably be apologizing to Abbott. Again. She had to collect her thoughts first. She wasn't entirely sure that she could explain her reasoning. At the moment, it didn't fully make sense even to her. Was that because she was currently not firing on all cylinders, or because she had been too tired last night to be making rational decisions?

Yet another mystery to clear up once she was completely awake.

Meanwhile, she avoided the eyes of her silent companion, who seemed very interested in the decor of the detention center, for the moment.

"I take it this wasn't entirely a spur of the moment decision?" His question sounded almost off-hand. It took her a moment to realize that he was referring to her unusual sleeping arrangement. Rather than let him see her defensive bristling (especially since she was likely to be crabbier than was wise around a superior) she let herself play dumb, for once.

"What?" She didn't have to fake the slack jawed look. Morning just did that to her naturally. Unless she fought it by embracing her inner harpy.

He smiled, apparently not fooled. "The shower room down the hall has your shampoo, conditioner, and oral care products. And you have a robe and towels folded at the foot of your bed." Abbott raised an eyebrow at her. "You don't usually have those items at work, am I right?"

She shrugged, conceding the point. "Not unless I know we might pull an all-nighter."

He nodded. "Jane doesn't know you're here." It was a statement, not a question.

"I hope not. I'd never hear the end of it."

"You think that he'd object? He has been known to keep some interesting hours, himself. In very odd places. I suspect he asked for the couch so that he could nap here, as he did at the CBI. And I know he has spent the night here more than once."

She winced. "He would tell me to take better care of myself. Mind you, he never takes his own advice on that. And he would never admit that having me close by might be helpful."

Abbott glanced at her sharply, as if catching her in a falsehood. Or at least an inconsistency. "On the contrary. When he insisted that he would only work with the FBI if you were here too, that was a clear message. He doesn't just find you helpful. He finds you necessary."

She squinted at him, ignoring how the pull of her eyebrows made her headache momentarily worse.

Why hadn't she thought of that before?

It couldn't be true of course. The fact that it made a weird kind of sense in her current state was further evidence against it.

Besides, thinking along those lines would only build up hopes that could never be met.

_Like that he might make changes to accommodate me. Or that the necessity of my presence might be more personal than professional._

_I'm not chasing down that rabbit trail again._

Abbott raised an eyebrow and peered over his glasses at her with a fierce frown. "Do you _doubt_ what I'm telling you?"

It wouldn't be polite to say yes. So she shook her head. But she also said, "I'm only necessary on his terms. Last night he tried to send me home before he left here." The sudden emergence of the memory made her feel angry and hurt all over again.

"Because you disputed the necessity of taking Mr. Delahey into FBI custody?" She recognized his ploy this time. It's one of Jane's favorites. Fishing for information by means of educated guesses prompts people to tell more than they intend, because they think you know more than you do. Or because they are quick to defend themselves against unfounded charges, even if it means giving away even more damning information.

She wasn't even sure what information she was holding back, but she hedged anyway. "What gives you that idea?"

This time Abbott did not answer right away. He leaned forward and looked at her intently. She had seen him look at suspects like that, when he was considering the best tactic for extracting sensitive information. She blinked and swallowed the dregs of the coffee, feeling entirely unprepared for an interrogation. _He wouldn't have given me decaf on purpose, would he...?_

"Teresa Lisbon," he began.

_Uh-oh, _she thought, sitting up very straight as she pushed down her panic.

"Did you sign this paperwork?" He handed her the file that he had been holding.

She laid it out on the bed beside her, trying to make sense of the printed forms. At the end of each was her name, in her handwriting. She didn't remember signing it. But then, at the moment, she didn't remember much of anything. And maybe that was a good thing. Except that she knew it wouldn't play well for Abbott.

She looked up at him again, mouth agape. No words came out.

He held his pose.

Finally she found her voice. "Where did you get this?"

He hesitated briefly, eyes narrowed. "Jane."

She blinked some more, processing that. Remembering where her primary loyalties were focused. Who she trusted more. "It's my signature." His face gave no clue to his response. Did he believe her? Did he hear the slight uncertainty, notice the careful wording? "I'm sorry, I think I need more coffee. And maybe glasses." Self-deprecating humor sometimes could defuse tough situations, she knew. And, in fact, she had found reading more difficult lately. Was it time to look into bifocals?

Dennis sighed, retrieved the file, and shook his head almost sadly. "Do you honestly think that I'd fire Jane over something like this? Or press charges? You know that I've long since figured out how important you both are to this team, right?"

Now her anxiety spiked even more sharply. The gentle paternal tone was used so very rarely. It had to be another ploy, right? It couldn't be that he really cared about her or about Jane.

But her resources for evasion were extremely limited at the moment. She fell back on the truth, knowing that, at least, would give her the fabled and elusive believable deniability that Jane loved to extend to her. "I honestly think that I'm still barely awake, and that my memories of last night are foggy at best."

Abbott cocked his head, with an expression of more urgent concern. "Jane wouldn't have hypnotized you, would he?"

She opened her eyes wide, shocked at the suggestion that she had never considered. Without thinking, she blurted out "He never has before, without my permission!"

Abbott actually seemed reassured by this, though she wasn't sure why. "Then let me try to help you reconstruct the events of last night. It's important for me to understand what happened, but please understand that I am not looking to get either of you in trouble. I intend to follow through on this case, and I need all the facts to know how best to conduct the investigation."

The case. The burly, belligerent man who claimed there were no females in his home. The young woman, injured and dying in a stranger's bed. Jane on his knees at her side, speaking gently, soothingly. Staring into her eyes even after they no longer saw him.

"You... you're opening the case?" A sense of relief flooded her, along with utter astonishment.

He proffered the pages again, showing his own signature under each of hers. He had signed off on all this, even not knowing if her signature was or was not a forgery?

"So. You were on a date with Pike. The night before your day off. I'm sure you had plans. But then Jane called. What did he say?"

"That there was a woman in trouble, being held against her will. That he needed back-up."

"And when you arrived?"

She paused. Their argument wasn't relevant to the case, was it? "We went to the door and knocked. Mr. Delahey opened the door. He appeared agitated. We asked him about the woman, and he denied that there was one. Then we heard her cry out. I took out my firearm and entered. We located the woman in a bedroom, seriously injured..."

Dennis nodded, "I've read the report. The account squares with yours. It's even more articulate than you are, at the moment. It almost sounds more like you than you." A slight smile tugged at his lips. "But I've read... reams of reports that you authored. This is cleaner than any of them. Not to mention being completed by computer. That's not something a person learns to do overnight." He fingered the file, thoughtfully. "On the other hand, an observant man in a certain frame of mind might get help to access the computers and borrow the voice a woman he knows very well to say what he knows needs to be said."

_She remembered Jane's stricken face, how it seemed frozen that way until the local authorities showed up. Then his deadpan assumption that the case belonged to the feds. She went along with him, hurting for him, blaming herself for not trusting his judgment in the first place, for even thinking that he would lie to pull her away from a date._

_He must have seen how tired she was. That she was far from confident that they could make a case for FBI jurisdiction to Abbott. That the idea of staying up to complete the paperwork was overwhelming to her. And of course she knew that any delay would be barely tolerable to him._

_That must be why he said it. "Lisbon, you should go back to your date. Call Pike. He cares about you, he will be waiting to make sure everything's okay. I'm going to call Wylie to get a ride to headquarters."_

_She had shaken her head impatiently. "If we are taking Delahey into custody FBI, I think you need a more experienced agent to help bring him in."_

_"You honestly don't think Wylie and I can handle him?"_

_"Not if Wylie is also driving." She had not wanted to cast aspersions on Wylie's reliability with firearms, but she knew that she had never actually seen him handle a weapon._

_"Okay. You come with us headquarters, and then call a cab."_

_"And just where were you thinking of keeping him?"_

_"In the short term detention suite."_

_"And who did you think would authorize that at this late hour?" Jane never considered the bureaucratic elements of his plans._

_"We need authorization?" He blinked innocently._

_"Yes! Use of the detention suite and the availability of two trained agents on guard requires someone in authority to sign off. Have you never bothered to read regulations?"_

_"Alright, I'll make other arrangements. Trust me, I can arrange this."_

_"And who's going to do the paperwork? You?" She had laughed bitterly._

_He had looked at her silently for a moment. She thought she detected a proud_, _stubborn set to his jaw. But he only said. "It can wait until morning."_

Lisbon snapped back to the present, where Abbott watching her carefully. He had guessed much of this already. He just wanted confirmation that his team would reward his trust by being forthright. Secrets within a team were a bear to manage, she knew from hard experience. And hadn't Abbott just proven that he could keep hers? Even Jane's?

"What else do you need to know, sir?"


End file.
